My 30 Days in the Amazon Rainforest

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Festa de Onça—Part Two

I figured partying with tribes deserved a second posting, one with lots of photos.

There are only so many words you can use to describe an experience, especially one so unique as visiting an indigenous tribe in the Amazon rainforest.

So, with that said, I will use no more words, just photos.

Photo © Erik Lopes/TNC

Photo © Julia Bourque/TNC

Photo © Erik Lopes/TNC

Photo © Erik Lopes/TNC

Photo © Julia Bourque/TNC

Photo © Erik Lopes/TNC

Photo © Julia Bourque/TNC

Photo © Julia Bourque/TNC

Photo © Julia Bourque/TNC

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Festa de Onça

Literal translation = “Party for the jaguar”

Much of the time, I stood back and watched. I took photos and video. It wasn’t all that different from how I’d act at any large party where I didn’t know anyone. I was more of an observer.

But then I had some caxiri—a “beer” from fermented manioc specially made for the “Festa de Onça” the Wajãpi arranged for our arrival. Before I knew it, I was using the little French I learned in high school to chat with tribe members from French Guiana.

As I stood and watched and eventually socialized, I kept trying to make comparisons between this Festa de Onça and the many parties I’ve attended in my life. There were a few similarities, but this was overall like no other.

Most of the women and children in the tribe gathered under two huts to observe. Those who didn’t were the two elders who served the caxiri and the dancers’ wives who followed behind their men. The men gathered in the center of the village and a few select men performed a dance to “harness the power of the jaguar.”

As the men performed, the two elder women would come out with bowls of caxiri and serve each of them, holding the bowls up to their mouths. One by one they took a drink, and when the last one in the line finished, they collectively let out a “yeee-heee!” and began to dance some more.

I could feel the intense emotion behind each man as he danced and sang with furrowed eyebrows and strained vocals. Not even a strong rainforest downpour could stop them. This was a way for them to connect with their ancestors and the nature around them. I could feel their sorrow for those they’d lost and the immense appreciation for the forest. They were literally singing its praises.

Since this was a learning exchance, the Wajãpi tribesman invited those from the visiting Xikrin and Parakanã tribes to perform their traditional dances as well. It was fascinating to see these people, these cultures interact with each other for the first time.

Leaving the Festa de Onca I couldn’t help but wonder, “Will I ever look at parties the same again?” I doubt it.

Photo/Video: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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Indigenous

What does an indigenous community in 2015 look like?

After a one-hour flight and a seven-hour drive on very bumpy dirt road, we arrived. We were in the heart of the Amazon rainforest entering the Wajãpi village.

At first, every pre-conceived notion I had about visiting an indigenous community was reality. It was remote, it was beautiful and the tribe’s men and women had traditional markings and clothing—or lack thereof.

But, as soon as we stepped into their community center, my thoughts of what it meant to live in an indigenous village went to the wayside. We stood in a community center with a cement floor, wood posts and picnic tables. There were outlets and laptops on the tables.

Before heading out to this village, I had the understanding that I’d be disconnecting for a few days—like really disconnecting. I would have no cell service, no wi-fi, no power, no running water. I was prepared to feel like I was on a backpacking trip.

But, here we were in the middle of the rainforest with solar power, a roof over our heads and wifi—yes, there was wifi. My mind was blown.

My two-day visit to the Wajãpi village was coupled with a learning exchange between the Wajãpi, Xikrin and Parakanã tribes. The Nature Conservancy helped bring these tribes together so they could share the challenges they’re facing with their lands, forest management practices and best practices on tribal governance and organization.

It was truly an amazing and eye opening experience to be with people so connected to their culture and the land, but yet using modern-day technology to improve their lives and the forest they rely upon. Simply fascinating.

Wajãpi tribe leaders gather with leaders from the Xikrin and Parakanã tribes to discuss land management practices.

A leader from the Xikrin tribe works with a leader from the Wajãpi tribe to show areas of deforestation (in red) surrounding their lands and explains the effects they’ve seen and felt.

Everyone from the Wajãpi tribe gathered at the community center to welcome us.

Photos © Julia Bourque/TNC

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107 Years Old

I met a woman who is 107 years old, and she is awesome.

In the tiny village of Pimental, Maria Gabriela da Silva lives with her 81-year-old son Bernardo. She is 107 years old and can no longer walk, but she shared animated stories from her youth like it was yesterday.

When she was six years old, Maria moved from northeast Brazil with her family to become a “rubber soldier” in the Amazon. At six years old, Maria bushwhacked her way through the uninhabited Amazon jungle, harvested rubber and helped establish the village of Pimental.

Maria spent the majority of her life harvesting rubber for the government and has lived in Pimental since establishing it 100 years ago. Today, she and her son—who was also a rubber warrior—barely survive on the government’s stipend for former rubber harvesters.

Bernardo is the only one of her children with whom Maria still has a relationship.

“We’re not rich. We don’t have a nice house, so (my other children) have left and will never come back,” she told us.

In the next few years, there may be nothing to come back to. Should the government approve the construction of a nearby dam, Pimental will be under water. Maria, Bernardo and the other 12,000 people displaced by the dam will need to find new homes and new ways of life.

“I’m 107 years old,” Maria told us. “I’ve been here my entire life. Where do they think I’m going to go?”

Pimental is all Maria knows—and knows quite well. She told us she delivered nearly 1,000 babies in her village and became a “renowned” mid-wife in the community.

I walked away from Maria’s house in tears. I had just met a 107-year-old soldier—a soldier with the sweetest smile and most gentle hands. A soldier who warmly welcomed us into her home and kissed us as we came and went.

My tears came from every emotion I could possibly have: the joy of meeting her, respect for her strength, frustration over the dam and thoughts of my own grandmother and mother.

I know Brazil needs more reliable energy. I’ve visited places during this trip where it is certainly necessary. But, meeting Maria, my heart is broken knowing that negatives come along with the positives. In this case, the negative was Maria—and 12,000 other people—losing her home and way of life.

These are the challenges Brazil is facing and why The Nature Conservancy’s work to help plan and eliminate or mitigate these risks is extremely important.

The Nature Conservancy’s Teresa Moreira talks with Maria’s son Bernardo. Teresa is Brazil’s Environmental Governance Specialist.

Pimental kids swing from trees and enjoy the waters of the Tapajos River.

Walfredo, Itaituba’s governmental secretary, visits Maria every three months. He was born in Pimental and Maria is his grandmother’s sister.

Photos: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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Cheeky Monkeys

They’re quick to hide and really, really cute!

“Monkeys!” Ian shouted as Orlando slammed on the brakes. Ian is a soft-spoken Irishman. This was the loudest I’d heard him speak since meeting him.

You see, monkeys are quite shy creatures and are quick to scurry into the trees and disappear. So, when you see them on the side of the road, you shout, “monkeys!” and try to catch a glimpse.

We were driving down the dirt road that leads to Ponta de Pedras, a beach outside of Santarem. It’s surrounded by Brazil’s cerrado habitat—the world’s most biologically rich savanna.

We were lucky enough to see the two monkeys with our own eyes, but not lucky enough to capture a photo. Thanks to Flickr Creative Commons, here’s a glimpse of what we saw: the dusky titi monkey (Callicebus moloch).

Photos © bean MOST/Flickr Creative Commons and Cliff/Flickr Creative Commons

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Acai Everywhere!

The valued “super fruit” grows wildly in the Amazon rainforest.

At nearly every turn, you see them—stands of acai trees growing tall in the Amazon rainforest. A member of the palm tree family, acai trees look similar to its thousands of “siblings,” but there are a few details that make them stand out from the rest.

Acai trees are taller and more slender than other palms. At the base of an acai tree, you can see anywhere from four to eight mature stems all growing from the same seed and root system. And, the leaves of the acai tree are thinner, finer. Looking at them from the road, they looked soft to the touch—like giant feather dusters.

Having traveled through the Amazon for 21 days now, I’ve learned just how important this tree and its fruit is to Brazilians. Acai is everywhere. It’s the juice you drink at breakfast, it’s a delicious frozen dessert, the seeds become beautiful necklaces and acai oil is in all sorts of health and beauty products.

What’s also amazing is how acai berries are collected. Harvesters will wrap their feet in leather straps around the base of the tree, put a machete in their mouth and climb/hop to the top and collect the berries. I didn’t get to see this happen, but I can say I’m definitely a lot more appreciative of acai after learning this and seeing the trees stand tall in the jungle.

Photo: © Haroldo Palo Jr.

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The Mouth of the Amazon

Ever wonder what the mouth of the Amazon River looks like? Here’s a look.

The strong, warm wind prohibits hearing anything other than its force against your ears. The muddy brown, white-capped water looks like a vigorously stirred giant glass of chocolate milk—you know, when you stir it so much little bubbles come to the top?

Standing near the mouth of the Amazon River in Macapa, these muddy waters seemed to go on forever. I could see a rainforest island in the distance, but its trees looked the size of toothpicks. With a mouth 150 miles wide, I guess that’s what I should have expected. Standing here felt more like looking over Lake Michigan from Chicago’s lakefront than looking over a river.

And, people were using this riverfront much like Chicagoans use its lakefront. There were docked boats—mostly large cruise ships for tourism—and runners, walkers and bikers enjoying the riverfront from when we arrived in the afternoon until the sun went down.

I have to say the color of the water alarmed me. Was it polluted from sewage? It turns out, no. The brown water is a result of heavy sediment runoff from the mountains and surrounding forests. Heavy tropical rains wash soil into the Amazon—and in even greater amounts in deforested areas.

Enough of my own description. Take a look for yourself.

Photo: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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Tapajos Getaway

Portal da Amazonia

Eight years ago, Cleison Soares saw into the future. Before him stood a small clay house surrounded by thick vegetation, but what he saw was the Tapajos River getaway he’s building today—what he hopes to name the “Portal da Amazonia.”

“I came here and fell in love,” Cleison said. “I have always been connected to nature—growing up on a farm and playing outdoors. And, here, I feel I can really connect, live a simpler life.”

Though recently demolished, the small clay house served as Cleison’s home for five years while he built his getaway. He harvested all of his building materials locally, treating the bamboo for 90 days before it served as his home’s sturdy new walls.

While building his home, Cleison is also establishing quite the farm. On his six hectares (nearly 15 acres), he’s built a small pond to raise fish, chickens wander the grounds and he’s planted 4,000 types of fruit trees, ranging from açaí and cacao to cupuaçu and coconut. He plans to live off what he grows and hopefully open his getaway as a bed & breakfast.

Cleison says he’s still working but plans to be done in two years, just in time for retirement. He was nice enough to welcome me and my colleagues for lunch and show us around. Here’s a look at his progress so far:

The view of the house walking up from the Tapajos River.

The view of the house looking toward the Tapajos River.

Our gracious hosts provided much needed shelter from the storm—and delicious hot coffee.

Here’s a look at the kitchen, where our meal of fresh fish and hot soup was prepared.

Next to the house, Cleison is constructing a two-level building where food is grilled and hammocks are hung.

Aaaaahhh…hammocks…

And, the man behind it all, Cleison, with his lady, Morly.

Photos: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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The Tapajos River

Take a look at this great river from its banks, its waters and from up above.

The Tapajos River is a major tributary to the Amazon River and quite grand in its own measure. It runs 1,200 miles, touches three Brazilian states (Mato Grasso, Para and Amazonas) and runs through 65 municipalities.

The Tapajós ecoregion is home to at least 324 fish species and ranks within the top 25% in terms of global importance for both freshwater and terrestrial biodiversity rarity.

But, it’s facing some serious threats. There are competing needs for energy, transportation, mining, conservation and more. The Nature Conservancy is working across the entire Tapajos River basin with many partners to encourage and guide sustainable development.

I’ve had the pleasure of touring these projects and the Tapajos during my stay in the Amazon and have seen the river from many perspectives. Take a look.

Photo: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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Alter do Chao

The Caribbean of the Amazon

Did you know the Amazon has white sandy beaches?! I sure didn’t. That is, until I visited Alter do Chao for a quick lunch break with my colleagues Ian and Orlando.

Alter do Chao is another small city situated on the Tapajos River, about 45 minutes outside of Santarem. Many Santarem residents have second houses here or spend holidays here, and the non-Brazilians who relocated here have coined Alter do Chao as the “Caribbean of the Amazon.”

It’s the rainy season now, so the Tapajos’ water was high and covered the white sandy beaches. Though I didn’t get to see them, I’ve been told by many that the beaches are magical. And, to top it off, beach goers can see the pink river dolphins that call these waters home. Yeah, that’s right, pink river dolphins. I definitely want to come back here.

Check out these videos:

Photo: © Lais Castro Trajano/Flickr Creative Commons

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Fordlândia and Belterra

I went back to 1930s America while in Brazil.

“You’re going to feel like you’re in the U.S.,” Orlando said to me as we approached Belterra. At this point, I had seen soy farms and large cities that already reminded me of home. What could be next?

As we came into Belterra on the one road that leads to it, I saw bungalow-style houses with siding and landscaped lawns. The houses, for the most part, looked like they belonged in a neighborhood from 1930s America. This was a stark contrast to the mostly flat-roofed, non-sided homes I had seen so far.

Belterra was established after the fall of Fordlândia, a city that Henry Ford established in 1934. Ford had the intent to produce rubber in Fordlândia and import it to the U.S. But, Fordlândia’s topography made this difficult and it was soon an economic failure.

Ford then established Belterra about 62 miles south of Fordlândia. The terrain here was flat and much more favorable for the use of machinery. But, before Ford even had a chance to visit Belterra, the demand for natural rubber declined and the plantation was no longer cost effective.

Ford sold the plantation to the Brazilian government, which is still running a much smaller version of the plantation under EMBRAPA, the Brazilian Corporation of Agricultural Research.

Orlando was right. As I wandered the main street of Belterra and visited the Centro de Memoria de Belterra, I felt a little like I was back in the U.S….yet again.

Photos: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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The Meeting Waters

Where the Tapajos and Amazon Rivers Collide

If you look closely, you can see it. You can see where the dark tannin-rich water meets the cloudy, sand-colored water. This place is where the Tapajos River meets the Amazon River, a place known as the “meeting waters.”

The “meeting waters” is located in Santarem, a lively city of nearly 300,000 people that was established in 1661. Its waterfront is lined with food carts, bikes, colored umbrellas and people sitting underneath them drinking pilsner beers. Across the street, there are restaurants and markets full of local, handcrafted goods as far as you can see in both directions. Of the cities I’ve visited, Santarem has won my heart.

The Tapajos River stretches nearly 1,200 miles and is one of the Amazon River’s largest tributaries. For its last 100 miles, it is between four and nine miles wide—for comparison, the Mississippi River is seven miles at its widest and two miles wide in most places.

The Tapajos basin supports robust agricultural production and is home to very diverse flora and fauna, transitioning from Brazil’s cerrado savanna habitat to lowland Amazonian rainforest and savannas. As part of the Brazil Energy Expansion Plan, 40 large dams and 52 small dams are being planned in the Tapajos River basin. These plans come without a basin-wide strategic vision.

Because of this mix of agricultural use, hydropower development and high biodiversity, The Nature Conservancy has included the Tapajos River in its Great Rivers Partnership. The Conservancy is working here to help implement sustainable agricultural practices and establish criteria to evaluate environmental performance of the planned dams, ultimately influencing dam planning to reduce environmental and social impact.

That’s a really good thing. The Tapajos River basin is within the top 25% of ecoregions in terms of global importance for both freshwater and terrestrial biodiversity. I’d hate to see it any other way.

To gain some perspective on the size of the Tapajos, here's a short little video of a cruise shipping sailing past the meetings waters.

Photo: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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Roads of the Amazon

Brace yourself. It’s a bumpy ride.

Each of us hanging on to the small bar above our window, we looked at each other with sheer fright in our eyes.

“I need to close my eyes,” Daniel said to me as I bounced around like a bobble head doll on a dashboard, my bum completely airborne from the seat. “Me too,” I whispered back with a shaky voice.

It’s the rainy season in the Amazon, and its rural area roads are a hot mess. They’re more like muddy, clay obstacle courses through the jungle. It’s important to note that not all roads are created equally in the Amazon. In Belem, they’re just like any road back home. But, once you leave the large city centers, roads are just cleared dirt pathways with forest or farm fields on each side.

Take a look for yourself.

Photo: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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I Brake for Butterflies

When you see 30 or so butterflies dancing on the side of the road, you stop. Watch.

“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”— John Keats

Click here to learn more about butterflies in the Amazon.

Photo: © JR Ferrer Paris/Flickr Creative Commons

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State of the Amazon

What’s left of the Amazon rainforest?

Greeted by a city with 1.5 million people and then touring soy farms in rural areas, my first few days in the Amazon were not what I expected them to be. I expected to see brightly colored parrots and toucans flying overhead, jaguars lurking in the woods and monkeys swinging from trees.

As I’ve mentioned in other blog posts, I’m quickly learning the Amazon is not all jungle and monkeys. However, these new discoveries made me wonder just how much of the Amazon is still wild?

I sat down with the Conservancy’s Amazon Forest & Climate Coordinator Rodrigo Mauro Freire, and here’s what he shared:

The entire Amazon is the size of Europe, and in terms of deforestation, we’ve lost France and Germany—that’s 20% of the total rainforest.

The Amazon rainforest covers 9 countries and holds 1/5 of the world’s forests, 1/3 of the world’s species and 20% of the world’s freshwater.

More specifically, the Amazon rainforest is home to 20% of the Earth's bird species, 427 mammal species, 40,000 plant species and 2.5 million insect species.

48 billion tons of carbon dioxide are stored in the Amazon’s trees. (Be sure to thank them when you take a deep breath later today.)

61% of the Amazon is in Brazil, which covers 9 states and stretches 3.2 million square miles.

Populations in the Amazon are condensed to large city centers like Manaus (2 million people) and Belém (1.4 million people).

81% of deforestation in the Amazon is from cattle ranching.

57% of greenhouse gases in Brazil come from deforestation.

One 30-meter (98 feet) tree can guarantee the evaporation of 300 liters (79 gallons) of water per day. The Amazon’s trees power the water cycle.

So, there you have it—a little insight into the current state of the Amazon from someone who is studying and living in it.

Also, this. Who doesn't love otters!?

Photo: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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Forest Code

No, it’s not the PIN you need to enter the rainforest.

When I first took on this fellowship for our Amazon Program, everyone kept telling me about the “Forest Code.” It came up on nearly every phone call I had about our Amazon projects, and all I kept picturing was someone punching a four-digit code to get into the rainforest.

In metaphorical terms, yes, this code does allow you into the rainforest. But, it’s a little more complicated than punching four digits.

Brazil’s Forest Code passed in 1965 and required landowners in the Amazon to maintain 80 percent of their property in native forests. So, developers of all kinds could buy land in the Amazon, but they could only deforest 20 percent of it.

Now, picture the Amazon for a second. It’s HUGE. It covers 2.3 million square miles—the size of Mexico, Mongolia, Peru and Egypt combined. Now, picture a government with few resources trying to track property boundaries across this vast area of thick, mostly impassable jungle.

The Forest Code has been nearly impossible to implement and monitor. Clear ownership records exist for less than 4% of private land in the Amazon. That’s why in 2010 the Brazil government made it mandatory for all rural properties to be mapped and registered through a government system known as CAR (Cadastro Ambiental Rural).

Using its mapping software, The Nature Conservancy is working with the states of Pará and Mato Grosso to implement CAR, as Conservancy scientists believe this is the first step toward implementing the Forest Code.

Now, ready for things to get a little complicated? In 2012, the Brazil government updated the Forest Code and included an amnesty for individuals who illegally cleared rainforest before 2008. The government estimates up to 90% of deforestation is illegal. Recent news reports an increase in deforestation because of this change, stating it gives landowners the feeling that sooner or later they’ll be forgiven if they deforest.

The Forest Code is critical to protecting our world’s largest rainforest and the most diverse place on Earth. But, as my colleague Ian Thompson—the Conservancy’s director of conservation in Brazil—said to me during lunch, “Laws can change. We need to inspire people to leave forests on the land and determine their value. We need forests.”

Photo: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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Amazon Soy Fields

Sustainable Development in Brazil

It’s sunny, hot and humid. Sweat drips down my brow as I stand at the edge of farm field looking out over rows and rows of soy beans. I feel like I’m 15 years old again about to de-tassel corn from a farm just outside my hometown of Kewanee, IL.

But, I’m not in Illinois; I’m in the Amazon. I am standing with a farmer at the edge of his 127 hectares (about 314 acres) discussing production and how he got into farming. The only difference from being back in Illinois was communicating through the translation help of my colleagues Orlando and Ian.

Severino João Duarte has been farming most of his life. He came to Santarém from northeast Brazil to provide a better life for his family and work for a Japanese farmer growing black pepper. Working hard and saving his money, Severino purchased the 127 hectares on which I stood, cleared the trees and began farming rice 30 years ago. Today he farms soy with his son Sylvan, who is pictured above and took on the responsibility of showing me around.

The Nature Conservancy is working with farmers like Severino and Sylvan to ensure they’re compliant with the Forest Code, a federal law that states landowners must leave 80 percent of their property in native forests. I’ll get more into the Forest Code in another post.

When Severino began farming, he cleared everything. He was not compliant with the Code. The Conservancy discovered this in 2004 by analyzing satellite images. These images are taken all across the Amazon multiple times each month, and Conservancy staff can detect what is forest, what is corn, what is soy and what is pasture. Yeah, it’s pretty flippin’ cool science.

So, you might be thinking—or at least I know I was—how does the Conservancy have any right to tell these farmers what to do? It doesn't. It’s the government’s role to enforce the Forest Code. But, you see, the Amazon is huge and the government doesn’t have the capacity to enforce the Code everywhere nor to analyze these satellite images.

Because the Conservancy supports the Forest Code and wants to see the Amazon rainforest protected, Conservancy staff help the government by meeting with farmers, explaining the Forest Code and showing them how they’re not compliant.

Additionally, the Conservancy uses these images to create a “green list” of farmers. Since 2004, Cargill has relied on this “green list” to implement its commitment of only buying soy from farmers compliant with the Forest Code. Because of this commitment from Cargill, the Conservancy’s job of convincing farmers to become compliant is easier. Once they’re compliant, they can sell to Cargill. Now, complying with the Forest Code means more business instead of avoiding fines they’ve been avoiding all along anyhow.

Brazil produces 34% of the world’s soy, and its production is only expected to increase. The Conservancy believes if it is to influence thousands of farmers and work at the scale necessary to make an impact on deforestation, then the private sector must be engaged. I asked Sylvan why he decided to work with the Conservancy to restore forest on his land, and he said it was because of the opportunity to sell to Cargill.

I have to say I haven’t always understood the Conservancy’s relationship with corporations like Cargill. And, going into this visit, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about meeting people who deforested the Amazon. But, as I learn more about the Amazon, I’m seeing it in a new light. I’m seeing it through the eyes of the people who live here. The people who had to deforest to develop communities and make a living—much like early settlers did in the United States.

Knowing how quickly our world’s population is growing and with it the demand for food, it is becoming more and more apparent to me how critical a need it is for sustainable development. How can we develop the world’s growing communities, meet its demand for food AND protect nature? Seeing the Conservancy’s work here in Brazil gives me hope that we’re taking steps in the right direction.

Photos: © Julia Bourque/TNC

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